I do not go gently into September
like the other girls who don their jumpers and spiced lattes.
As the rain pelts my windows, and I worry that I won’t be able to clean the mud off my sick dog’s paws.
I do not dream of cosy nights in, with candles and blankets that my puppy would only eat.
No, I gasp.
sucking in the last few breaths of sun-soaked air,
fighting back tears as I turn to face my penitentiary
with the windows shut
and the boiler whistling.
I thrash
against the darkness that I’ve only just managed to shake from my hair
as I throw my clothes in the dryer and tie up the washing line.
I cry out: “I have only just thawed!”
I claw at the soil, willing dirt under my fingernails to whisper warm freedom.
And the cold snickers.
And the fear beckons,
looming in the night,
making the air feel thin.
No, I do not go gently into September.
I grit my teeth
and steel myself,
my only hope the promise
that He never grows tired of seasonal shifts
and the dawn is sure to find me again in its time.
All my love,
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Very vivid and beautifully written. I would not want to live in the smothering greyness and the unrelenting chill of our northern states, but here September promises a final escape from months of daily 105 degree solar assaults, and even the possibility of a little rainfall on parched earth. Winter is when I can finally go back to hiking in the hills without fear of turning into a dehydrated pile of windblown dust. May your winter be mild.
I thought I was the only one!